Slept in. Broke my own rule of 5:30 wake-up. Slept from 7:30 to 7:30. Spent so long under the covers my crossed ankles felt like they fused together. Bed warmth melted two bones into one.
Yesterday was a disaster. And a miracle. All-in-one. I suppose with the right perspective, every day is. Yin-yang continuum.
Miracles. Like Santa. Miracles are cruel jokes we label as fact and play on little kids. But miracles as I’m using the word this morning are simple and ordinary and naked moments just like disaster. It’s only perspective and mood that differentiates miracle from disaster. Here are three from yesterday. One. Last night’s dinner: full fat greek yogurt, baked apples, granola baked with peanut butter and almonds. Mmmm. Spoons after spoon. Exhausted in the kitchen. Baby happily playing. Happily eating yogurt with pureed prune. Me and Kate happy after a communication mountain climb of a day. Two. Last night’s phone conversation with my grandma. Maybe because she sounds so much like my mom. Maybe because I have only talked to her a handful of times since my mom died nine years ago. Maybe because when she talks about how today is dinner with my cousins and aunt and uncle and my cousins’ kids because today is Sunday and every Sunday is family dinner, maybe I miss that but not in a way like I can’t have it, but in a way like oh my god my Grandma is still alive and I talked with her and woah. Third. Last night’s phone conversation with my Thesis Advisor, Mentor, and Friend. Who reassured me that despite the disaster below, it’ll be fine. The Storm Will Be Weathered. Who took the time to call. To talk. About art and communication and growth. Who took the time to mentor. To say you have the chops. You have the guts. You have so much talent. I know you’ll succeed. You know what kind of fucking gift that is? You know how many mountains can be moved by giving students that kind of faith in themselves? It’s beautiful. Really.
Disasters. In marriage they seem to come one right after the other, and tend to be communication breakdowns of the highest order on subjects of the least importance. Seemingly. Yesterday, Kate and I replayed our entire relationship catalog of major points of marital disagreement. Felt like our inner conflict managers said, fuck it, while we’re here let’s take off the gloves and bring up everything. Perhaps oddly, when it comes to marriage, I see conflict as beneficial. I don’t know why. Possibly it’s I understand the precarious nature of two human beings co-existing. How fraught that enterprise is. Aligning all those preferences. So much translation and compromise. Seems that conflict is inevitable, and I think marriage therapists agree, and would say it’s more how we fight and how we move forward that matters. Clean Dishes. Don’t Swear. Clean House. Listen to Kate. Listen Better. Loosen Up.
I’m going to call my Grandma again next weekend. And Kate and the baby and I are going to drive the 9 hours to Virginia Beach to visit. I’m going to clean the dishes completely and help more around the house and listen listen listen and swear less and Kate and I are going to flourish like the avocado plant that we left out in the cold too long and we thought died but look it’s growing new branches.
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